


Phone calls

by Zoya113



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24820594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya113/pseuds/Zoya113
Summary: Paul would rather eat dirt than make a phone call, how does Emma expect him to handle such an important call without messing up?
Relationships: Paul Matthews/ Emma Perkins
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Phone calls

**Author's Note:**

> I’m just cleaning out my drafts so this is a bit of an old one !

“Hey babe, can you call up that dinner place for us? If we don’t reserve a seat we won’t get one,” Emma called out as she remembered. “I meant to do that last night but I was busy.

“The dinner place?” Paul asked, his fingers clutching around his phone. 

“Yeah. Can you ring them? Y’know, the one we’ve been talking about.” 

Paul stood up from the couch, coming up to the kitchen table. “How about I finish off the dishes and you do that phone call? I know you hate doing the dishes, and you’ve already had a busy day.” 

Emma shook her head. “Nah my hands are wet,” she pulled her hands out from under the water and shook her hands. “The number is on the fridge,” she tilted her head at the fridge. 

Paul nodded hesitantly, taking the number off the fridge, collecting his phone and closing the bedroom door behind him. 

“Okay, Paul,” he breathed. “Phone call time.” He tapped in the number, reading it back and forth to ensure it was in fact the right number. Even then, he still had to work up the courage. 

He looked at the time, wondering if he should just wait three minutes and then tell Emma they were all booked out. Oh but that would be so mean to Emma, she’d been looking forward to this all week. 

Okay. He took a deep breath, grabbing a piece of scrap paper off Emma’s nightstand and a pen from his draw.

‘Hi, can I book a table for two at 7 tonight under Matthews’ is what he wrote down. 

“Hi, can I book a table for two at seven tonight under Matthews?” He repeated, reading along. Yes. Good. “Hi, can I book a table for two at seven tonight? Under Matthews?” He said again. Yeah, that sounded better. 

He typed out the number, reading it once. Then again. Oh it’d be embarrassing if it was the wrong number. So he read it again, just to play it safe. Yes, okay, that was right. 

He pressed call, holding the phone to his ear - and his breath. 

“Hi,” he said, but it wasn’t actually finished connecting yet. “Hi,” he said again.

“Hello,” came a voice from the other end. 

Shit, he spoke over her. “Sorry, sorry.” 

“Pardon?” 

“Sorry, hi, yeah. Uh,” fuck! 

“Oh good afternoon sir, how are you?” 

“Hi, can I book a table for seven under two?” Fuck. He missed that question too, he circled back quickly. “Yes I’m fine. How are you?”

“Good thanks. Two tomorrow?” Came a confused voice. 

“Shit- shoot, sorry. Two tonight!”

“We close at ten, sir,” the worker explained. 

He shook his head. “A table for two at seven tonight! Is that okay?” He read off his paper, hoping this got the message across.

“Oh! Yes sir, that’s not a problem,” there was a moment of pause. What for?

“Oh good, Uh-“ 

“Oh sorry pardon? I was just writing that down.”

“Oh nothing!” He apologised. 

“Oh uh.” Now the worker was getting a bit awkward too, and in that pause he had to restrain himself from just hanging up. He would have to take a nap after this, it had only been about twenty seconds and he was drained. “And what name was that under?” 

“Davidson.” No way was he giving out his real name after that! 

“Oh Davidson?”

“Yes. With a D.” 

There was a muffled laugh. “Alright, yes sir. We’ll mark you down for two at seven tonight. Is that all correct?” 

He nodded before remembering the worker couldn’t actually see him. “Yes thank you! That’s fine!” 

“Lovely, we’ll see you-“ he hung up.   
They weren’t done talking.

He put his phone down in his lap, leaning back against the headboard of their bed in pale terror. 

“Oh perfect, all done then? Did we get a table?” Emma asked, wiping her hands down on her shorts as she came in through the bedroom door. 

“We have to cancel,” he stated.

“Oh, huh?” She frowned, coming to take a seat besides him on the bed. She pressed a hand to his forehead. “Why? Are you sick? You look kinda sweaty and pale but-“ she held the other side of her hand to his forehead. “You don’t have a temperature.” 

“We just- we cant go there Emma.” He couldn’t even look her in the eyes, so how was he going to admit to that? He had no clue where to start with explaining how that all just went. 

“Oh. Well maybe we can just order in?” She didn’t prod any further. “Do you wanna ring back and cancel then?”

“NO.” He tossed his phone off his lap in surprise at that suggestion. “No, you do it.” 

A little surprised, but clearly having seen more sporadic behaviour from him she picked up his phone to call back, giving him a shocked look as the phone rang.   
“Hi, yes, sorry I’ve just rung back to cancel a reservation,” she began. 

He could only hear her half of the conversation but hoped it wasn’t the same person answering the phone. He bit down on his thumb nail. 

“Yes, for tonight at seven, it should be under ‘Matthews?’” She paused, her eyes drifting to the roof as she listened. 

Paul’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Oh. No Matthews?” She took the phone away from her ear for a second. “Paul; what’s it under?” 

His paleness was quickly replaced by a deep red, and he held a clammy hand to his neck, feeling his pulse just to ensure he was not in fact dying. “Davidson,” he answered. 

She snorted so hard she had to hold a hand to her nose and wipe her chin. 

His breath caught in his throat as a small ‘hello?’ Came through the other end of the line, but Emma was too busy cleaning her face and catching her breath to reply.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s-“ she laughed, unable to finish, but putting it on speaker. “Sorry, it’s-“ she palmed the phone over to him. “You do the talking I-“ she laughed into her arm, presumably not to interrupt the call. 

“Sorry. Under Davidson, actually. It was for two?” He stammered, his blood rushing to his ears. He could barely hear the reply. 

“Oh, and was that the bar table or the window seat?” 

He stopped, not because he couldn’t think of an answer, but because the words could physically not get to his mouth. “Both!” He answered quickly when the pause was too long and he had forgotten the options. “We are not coming!” He spluttered, hanging up. 

“What’s-? What’s the name of that place?” Emma’s laugh was barely audible because she was entirely out of air now as she doubled over, leaning into her stomach. “We can’t- we can’t go back.” 

“I think-“ he dropped his phone back onto the blankets, shaking his head as he tried to catch his breath. 

“You just cancelled your boss’ reservation,” she waved a hand at him like she was trying to bat him but didn’t have the air to carry through as she wheezed. “Both!” She mimicked the high strung way he had just said it. “Oh no, poor Mr Davidson!”

“Emma! No!” He tried, leaning forward to grab her arm, resting his hot forehead on her cool skin as he laughed, mostly from anxiety. “No they wouldn’t cancel both!” 

“What’s Mr Davidson gonna do now?” Her laugh was sort of a whimper now as she tilted her head back, struggling to breathe in enough air. “You just destroyed his evening, baby!” 

“No! No, it might not even have been that Davidson! Surely there are more Davidsons in town!” He didn’t need her mocking him right now.

She finally dropped her back down on the bed, but it only lasted a second as her core flexed in a pathetic laugh again, bringing her back up. “Yep- there are, Ken Davidson, Carol Davidson, and apparently us too!” She slapped her knee. “Oh, nepotism!” She couldn’t even explain the joke she had just told herself in her mind and let out another scream of a laugh. “Of all the names you coulda- Davidson!” 

“Stop, Emma!” He shoved her lightly, only enough to rock her. “You know I hate talking on the phone!” 

“Yeah but so do I! I didn’t think you meant bad enough to commit identity theft!” She elbowed him back, her cheeks as red as his and her eyes watery. “Oh I have to stop laughing! I have to stop!” She tried to will herself. “I’m sorry! I’ll never make you talk on the phone again!” She promised, hopping off the bed and racing out presumably in pursuit of some water to cool down. Her cackling still loud enough to resonate back to the bedroom like an echo of his awful, awful mistake. 

He trudged after her, finding her by the sink trying not to laugh for a second so she wouldn’t spit her glass of water everywhere. 

“I’d rather eat dirt than make another phone call, Emma,” he tried to justify himself.

“Oh!” She hiccuped. “At this rate we might just! Now what will we do about dinner?” 

He pulled up a kitchen chair, slumping his head onto the table in defeat. “Order in,” he told her, quite unable to face the world outside right now. 

“Yeah yeah,” she confirmed, only just taking in one deep breath that almost sounded a bit like a wail. “Oh Paul,” she wiped her eyes, her cheeks finally fading back to a more acceptable shade. “And let’s do it online this time.”


End file.
